Metamorphosis
by topsell
Summary: Left on earth for the next three years, will Wikus be able to survive on his own or will the group of Poleepkwa who have already opened their arms be able to help...and will he even let them? Set directly after the film.
1. Prologue: Alone in the Dark

**Title**: Metamorphosis

**Author**: E.E Kelley

**Summary**: Left on earth for the next 3 Years, will Wikus be able to survive on his own or will the group of Poleepkwa who have already opened their arms be able to help...and will he even let them?

**Genre**: Primarily Angst with a dash of H/C and Drama thrown on into the mix for a touch of flavour.

**Warnings**: Strong Language, Sexual Themes

**A/N:** Looking for a Beta reader if anyone is interested. Otherwise, I apologize for minor spelling and continuity errors within this piece. This will be a longer fic, and I will be attempting to put chapters out relatively fast, so bear with me as far as errors are concerned.

**Chapter One**: **Alone in the Dark**

It was a strange thing, becoming something else. It was a fucking horrible thing. Wikus lay on the ground of his small hovel. The mob of prawns had led him into the bowls, the darkness of an underground room, of a hut and merely left him alone among the stink that overwhelmed everything but pounding in his skull. Wikus writhed on his back, arching it so that sharp spines which had freshly pushed through skin didn't press too hard against the dirt floor. Every time they did shards of hurt shot up in spine. Still, it was not as though he could roll over onto his belly anytime soon.

There was a tearing of flesh, and Wikus felt as though something had been freed, as though something was unfurling. It was a strange sensation, but not an unpleasant one. It was similar to when a leg fell asleep, the limb remote and distant.

Craning his head down -- for even the smallest movement was a labor now -- he saw something that stopped his heart. The skin around his chest appeared to have been torn open, ripped from the centre as though clawed through from the inside. And that's exactly what it was. Two small appendages quivered amiss the red and black, gleaming in startling contrast.

Wikus almost gasped, but another wave hit him and he was arching up, craning to keep his torso lifted above the dirt. It was as though his spine were growing, stretching everything in him like putty. He wanted to scream, wanted to cry out in horror and pain, but that was useless. It would only bring the MNU soldiers to his little hole faster. He bit his lip and tried to convince himself the pain that those government bastards were having wet dreams about inflicting on him was far worse than this. At least that's what Wikus told himself; at least that's what Wikus hoped. He just wanted it all to end, wanted it all to fade away and be one bad dream. But as another wave washed over him, Wikus knew that the worst was just beginning.

From his daze, Wikus thought he could see dark water running in little rivers with his skin like great canyons for the stuff to flow in. Then, there was another tear, and the canyons crashed in one trembling earthquake. A sound like tearing meat, like steak being ripped apart by hungry man, met his ears but there was no white hot pain associated with that. There was only the sick feeling in his throat as Wikus watched strips of what was once his muscle and flesh fall from his arms.

And yet, there was a single blessing. The area betwen shoulder blades and the small of his back grew wonderfully numb There was still an itch all through his skull and along where his human legs jointed up to meet still human hips, but after the mind-numbing pain that had gone through his back and chest, these felt like little more than tickles to Wikus. Gingerly, almost hesitating, Wikus reached back with his mostly-human arm to survey the damage that had been done through touch only.

There was no trace of humanity left on Wikus back, only the smooth, cool shell of a prawn reaching from the tip-top of his spines vertebrae (if he even still had those, weren't these aliens invertebrate...lower on the food chain than anything but the bottom feeders of Earth who shared the same structural state) down to his hips. The smooth shell was plated in several areas along his back, but reached up mostly unmarred from lower back to spine and all along his right arm and shoulder. He could feel it creeping further too, knew by the amber eye in his skull that this wasn't the last of it. There was a smooth sort of elegance about the...bone, for a lack of a better 'human' word...that had replaced his own. Wikus found himself absently stroking the new shell with his prawn hand (as it had a longer span of reach), marveling how thick it was and the protection it offered, but still how he had alwasy associated the prawns in District 9 to Christmas Eve Dinner with Tanias folks: Lobsters, boiled alive and eaten right out of their shells.

Wikus dropped his head, focusing on the tattered pants that clung to him and the blood and the grime patching his broken body. He didn't want this, never asked for this. If it weren't for that one goddamn alien -- one fucking mistake, he would be waking up next to Tania, slowly coercing himself to leave her the bedroom and go to work, knowing she would always be there when he returned. This time he didn't return.

Puling out a scrap of paper from his wallet, Wikus realized he could still shed tears. The photo was of him and his wife on their wedding day. Not opting for a traditional, gaudy reception, Tania had convinced her betrothed-to-be that the only type of ceremony for them was one out in the wilderness, out in mountains. The had pledged their vows next to a flowering saguaro and kissed deeply so that the twenty odd people and entirety of the The Blyde River Canyon could be witness.

Wikus kissed the photograph and tucked it back into his wallet. Arranging himself on the hard mattress so 'graciously' set aside for him, Wikus curled into a fetal position and just held himself. Not caring what parts were what race, he clung to the idea of himself above everything. They could take it all away: his love, his land, his life, but they would never stop him from being Wikus Van De Merwe. Still, how could he continue to believe that?

---

Wikus had welcomed the darkness, let himself black out in a flurry of white stars and shadows with no caster. He could feel the residual soreness in his body, but as he lay perfectly still on the dirty mat, there was no new pain. So he did that: forced himself into the impression of a statue, not even daring to blink. '_I must be one piss ugly gargoyle!_' he thought to himself, catching a chuckle before it slipped free and ruined his persona.

What could he do, though? Just lay down and die in silence, too afraid to face the pain to even sit up and take a sip of water. He glanced at the pitcher across the room he had been neglecting since the prawn with an unseemly orange shell brought it hours before.

Sighing, Wikus wiggled himself into a sitting position, pushed against the dirty wall but trying with a sort of impossible hope to keep keep from putting any type of pressure on his new shell. He didn't want to feel it, didn't want to know it was even there. As far as Wikus was concerned, this could all just be another of his fucked up dreams. He might just wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs cooking on a leisurely Sunday morning. A smile pecked at his lips, involuntarily bringing a few tears along with it. Who was he kidding? He would never see Tania again! She would never want to see him again! Not him as this fucking creature, this goddamn medical experiment half-breed that's only purpose was to be sliced and diced on her fathers lab table?

Wikus buried his head in his hands once more, closing his eyes and trying to get used to the strange feeling of his Alien arm against the cool skin of his face. It was just so unfair. He should have been on that ship when Christopher took off! '_That prawn wouldn't even have gotten half as far as he did without me fighting to the end of my goddamn life in that mechanical hell-suit!' _Wikus huffed, not wanting to draw on his life anymore. It wasn't his anymore because he wasn't Wikus Van De Merwe. He was just some stinking alien who wasn't even welcome on this planet, who was taking up already scarce resource and increasing crime! He wasn't wanted anywhere!

Sighing, Wikus forwent the pitcher and let himself sink so that his head rested on knees, willing the world away with sleep.

---

Wikus woke, screaming, clenching fists so tightly that the nails and claws dug half-moon welts into his palms; blood flowed freely as tears. It was excruciating and even after raising himself from the dirty hunch he had slept in, all Wikus could think of was finding the cause of his suffering. It felt as though a knife had been plunged into the soft of his neck and, with desperation, Wikus groped for an invisible hilt. That wasn't the answer, and another white streak brought screaming sobs until his voice was horse and choked with desperate need. Still, nobody came to see if he was alright and the pain in his head only grew worse, like a tide drawn up higher and higher, until sea surpassed the shore itself. For some reason this ethereal moon wanted to put more strain on Wikus body then he could possibly take. That pain spread like ivy, pushing into every crevice with coiled vengeance. It was too much, he couldn't do this any longer. WIkus understood oh to well why none of the other experimented humans had gotten it past stage one. They were all keeping themselves safe from this personal hell.

Wikus couldn't cry anymore, and just lay there on the hard bed with dry tears marking a dirty face. The pain wouldn't stop and wound like the Nile through twisted pain wouldn't stop and tracked down his face in dirty tributaries. It was growing, spreading as though alive, pushing all the way from the base of spine to temples to forehead.

And it suddenly stopped.

As if over, there was on moment of glorious numb, and then that silence was broken sound of breaking bone, shifting bone. He screamed again, a blood-curtling moan from deep in his throat sounding more animal then man. He screamed and screamed as loud and as long as he could, screamed out to whoever would listen to his pleas. But nobody came and when his voice began to turn to nothing more than a harsh rasp, Wikus held on to his mantra still, whispering "_Help me; Help me; Oh christ, please help me..._"

Pain paused again. It was as though whatever was plaguing WIkus was a living thing, talking long, labored breaths subsiding as it made a time-out for the invisible parasite's heart to beat. But it never lasted long. Wikus tried to pick himself up and prop himself against the wall before it began anew, but nausea only grew as he looked down to where he had been laying. Green and black sludge coated the tiny cot he huddled in the centre of. If you looked closer, you could see reds and whites as well -- muscle and flesh fallen away.

With one swell, Wikus' stomach threw itself into his mouth. Gagging, he poor man almost didn't realize the pain had returned to skull as well. Nothing Wikus could do would free the sticky vomit from between his lips. Trying hard, beginning to hyperventilate more than he already had been, a desperation to find some source of air before the blackness came again was all that raced in the mans mind. At the thought, he almost let it, almost let the pain pull him into calm darkness, but if he were to do that would he ever be able to crawl his way up from that hell pit to see his beloved Tiania again? He had to make it to Christopher's three-year mark--

Wikus tired to yell out once more, to throw his torment in another direction. But, he couldn't yell anymore. It was as that black blood had clotted his mouth completely and as if his nose wasn't even upon his face. Gasping, Wikus tried hard to drink in the air, but found it not a necessary. He wasn't suffocating, wasn't dying like before and he sure as hell wasn't breathing!

Not thinking, Wikus reached his still human hand -- one of the only parts of him which still resembled anything _homo-sapian_ -- to push away whatever was clogging his airway. The skin of his finger pressed roughly against a mandible, brushing over it so lightly that Wikus wanted to pretend he didn't feel it. But there was no way to deny that, no way to pretend anymore. He lowered his hand and decied to just lay there and try to pretend even if that was impossible. Christ, he just wanted this all to be some fucked up dream.

Wikus cried himself to sleep.


	2. Chapter 1: Voices in the Dark

**Title**: Metamorphosis

**Author**: E.E Kelley

**Summary**: Alone and trapped in the District, before Wikus can even come to terms with what has happened to him, his body begins a full-on transformation. How will he survive the next three years if he can't even make it through the next few days?

**Genre**: Primarily Angst with a dash of H/C and Drama thrown on into the mix for a touch of flavour.

**Warnings**: Strong Language, Sexual Themes

**A/N:** This is what seemed like the quintessential "next step". When the movie came to an end, I was almost frustrated that the movie stopped. Well, I just watched D9 for the second time and it spurred on chapter two! Three will be up shortly after this as it is being edited atm.

**Chapter Two: A Voice in the Dark**

When he woke again, the pain was a distant thought, as if he were only able to remember it distantly. It was an ache that he had felt before, but had healed over: a bone that had mended. Wikus tried to sit up, but somehow misjudged his position and fell hard on his side, off the thin mattress he had been curled on. The floor was cold, and for the first time Wikus noticed that it was not only made of the dusty dirt that covered all of District 9, but of a thin layer of something else, something sweet scented. He lay on the earth for a while, focused on the strange smell he could not understand missing before.

Someone coughed from the other side of the room and Wikus nearly jumped. Again, he made a mistake as far as his place on the floor and when he tried to stand stumbled badly, landing back on the mattress.

"You probably shouldn't move," clicked a prawn from out of sight, "you're still pretty weak from the metamorphosis."

A hand -- claw, Wikus realized -- was offered, but he shook it off hard. Wikus didn't understand, but struggled to get away anyway. When he found it difficult to move, Wikus searched wildly for the source of the voice. He found a slim prawn with a shell that shone red in the half-light. The creature looked on at him with glassy eyes, lit with what Wikus nearly mistook for compassion.

'I don't need your fooking sympathy,' he tried, but the words came out wrong and Wikus nearly choked on them. Something wasn't right.

The red prawn was next to him again, helping him back onto the mat regardless of his struggles.

"You're still going to be disoriented, the process only just completed a couple hours ago." the creature clicked, laying Wikus flat on his back. For the first time, Wikus looked down at his body and realized in horror what the alien meant. He had changed, completely changed. He wasn't a goddamn half-breed anymore. No, he was nothing more than a prawn. He saw the long, insect-plated legs meeting with a waist so thin he could nearly wrap his clawed alien arm around. He struggled, moving his head frantically, and realized that that too had changed. For a long moment, Wikus shook, nearly convulsing in an unconscious effort to get away from himself. But that slowed, and the other prawn seemed to realize that there was nothing to do about it, so he just watched and waited.

Wikus finally lay flat again, letting his head fall onto the heavy mattress, not wanting to think about what he looked like. The other prawn stood and came closer, reaching into a sack at its side. Wikus scented the air immediately and knew what the alien had brought for him. His mouth -- or what had once been his mouth -- watered in anticipation and he had to look away. Tears (for it seemed that these bugs could still cry) sprang from his alien eyes and gathered in the folds there as he knew what was going to happen next.

Silently, the prawn beside him set the can of cat food down by the mattress and settled a step back to wait. It took only moments for Wikus' resolve to crumble beneath the smell of food. He grabbed for the can greedily and brought it up to his face, tears flowing still. The can was a deep one and when it met where his mouth should be, Wikus allowed for his mandibles to part and the tentacles that now filled the cavity to worm their way about the metal, searching for the food.

As he ate, he cried, and when there was no more cat food left in the can, Wikus threw it down angrily. He hated himself for loving the taste so much. Laying back on the mattress, he curled into himself, realizing that there was no longer any part of him human. The other prawn waited beside the mattress, saying nothing until he was done with his tears.

Wikus had stayed stationary in the shack, on the mattress, stayed as still as he could as if he were afraid to move in his new form.

No, it wasn't him. Hell, he wouldn't stay this way long -- just until Christopher could return and fix this shite poor problem and return him to being human.

WIkus' antenna twitched and he sensed the presence of the other prawn in the room. His senses were new, so much more intense than before. He couldn't feel the cold on his skin any longer, couldn't feel very much through the hard exoskeleton, but everything was so much different, sharper -- as if he had gained an extra sense entirely. He could feel the other prawn in the room, scent the pheromones that the creature let off and knew instantly its rank. That was another thing new to him -- a deeply ingrained feeling of order that he could not compare to anything he had known as a human. He felt connected, sure of the other prawns presense and their position within the system. But at the same time there was another thing that he had gained -- a empty feeling, one of loss. It was as though there was order within the District, but at the same time, something missing, something at the every top where everything met.

Shaking his head, Wikus let the thought fall away, not wanting to think of himself as a part of these fooking aliens order. He had read the MNU reports and knew of the hive behavior that these creatures exhibited -- knew that it had to be that he was feeling. He had the mentality of a goddamn insect, like a bee or an ant.

The thought sickened him vaguely, and he rolled over, trying to get further away from the other prawn he knew was in the room. It didn't hep, his antenna acted as if on their own and remained constantly erect, feeling out the others presence.

Wikus sighed, but it came out a garbled huff from his strange new face. He didn't want to think anymore and tried to remain silent. The red prawn didn't allow it and he felt the creature moving in his direction.

"You need to feed again," it clicked, and Wikus was horrified to find he could hear the concern, "Your body was drained of a large amount of calories during your metamorphoses and you need to intake more immediately so you can heal."

'_Goddamn it, I don't care about healing_,' Wikus rolled over, not daring to make a sound. He didn't want to hear his "voice", hear the words turned into insectile chirps.

"Come on!" the other prawn was at his back, urging him to roll over. Wikus resisted only a moment. He could senses the concern in the aliens presence and relented to the pharamones that came with such empathy.

Facing the creature, Wikus studied its face. This prawn was a shade of crimson, shell flecked with gold and brown. He was tall and thin, almost spindly even in comparison to the emasculated prawns that populated the District. The creatures eyes were what drew Wikus, though. Indeed they were the amber that most prawns iris held, but the colour appeared almost molten, alive with energy as if a fire burned behind. Wikus stared deeply into those eyes and let out a quick chirp before he realized his utterance.

As if catching himself, Wikus pressed his eyes shut and willed silence.

The prawn ahead of him put a clawed hand on his shoulder, rubbing loose circles around the new exoskeleton.

That was all it took, and Wikus found himself crying out as if in pain. The chirps which escaped him were quick and quiet, like a cricket in summertime. He was sobbing, and the very fact that he could recognize the sound made him cry out more.

"Come on, you really need to feed." the prawn urged after a few minutes, voice laddened with its own worry.

Wikus opened his eyes and found himself still clinging to the crimson prawn. He loosed his grip and fell back onto the mattress staring up at the ceiling.

The larger prawn stood and slipped away. Wikus could hear him rummaging in a bag on the other side of the shanty. There was a grinding sound, a can opener, and Wikus scented food once more. His antenna perked up, scenting the air as the smells of food released. A slow clack came without warning from his own mandibles. It was a sound of desire, a wordless need for the food.

Closing his eyes, Wikus willed these alien-behaviors away, trying to force them to the back of his mind.

"Here," the red prawn thrust out another can of cat food towards Wikus, pushing the hash right next to the new prawns face. Wikus wanted to resist, but the new senses were too much and he reached out as if on instinct.

When he finished with the can, Wikus set it down delicately beside the mattress, careful not to look at it again. He had licked the can clean of any scraps of food, carefully emptied it of all contents during his feeding. While he didn't want to admit it, the cat food and been surprisingly delicious, much better tasting then when he had eaten it during his transformation. He couldn't place the exact sensation that it gave him, but if he had to guess it would have been one of sheer euphoria, as if the hash were a drug unto itself.

There was a long bout of silence, but the other prawn broke through it.

"You will need to move more," it spoke slowly, as if to a very young child, "Your limbs have to be used so you don't develope any problems in relation to atrophy or others common among our people."

Wikus wanted to snap back at the alien, but caught himself. The alien was right, he had heard during his training as a MNU field agent of prawns developing a state similar to the arthritis of the limbs and having trouble even hobbling about the District. It had been described almost as stiffening of the creatures joints and sounded far more unpleasant than the human variety. Those prawns often lost entire limbs as they became more brittle over time and cracked off.

Before Wikus could voice his irritation, the prawn continued, "And I need you to speak. If you don't exercise your vocal muscles there is a chance of you developing a disorder with speech."

Wikus looked at him in irritation, but saw only concern in the other prawns expression.

Neither moved for a long moment. Wikus finally sat up on the mattress -- finding it much easier than he would have expected -- and stared into the prawns eyes, squaring off against him.

"Fook you," he clicked, and brought his eyes down once more, bitter


	3. Chapter 2: Faces in the Dark

**Title**: Metamorphosis

**Author**: E.E Kelley

**Summary**: Left on earth for the next 3 Years, will Wikus be able to survive on his own or will the group of Poleepkwa who have already opened their arms be able to help...and will he even let them?

**Genre**: Primarily Angst with a dash of H/C and Drama thrown on into the mix for a touch of flavour.

**Warnings**: Strong Language, Sexual Themes

**A/N:** Sorry this is a rather boring chapter (in my opinion), I needed the transition mark before I could get right on down to the meat and plotline. As always, feel free to critique but remember that edit mistakes are within this rough copy as I'm attempting to post quickly.

**Chapter Two: A Face in the Dark**

The thin prawn had cajoled him into eating another can of cat food, though words were few and far between. Wikus answered most of the larger prawns questions with nods or single chirps, trying desperately to ignore the aliens attempts to begin any sort of conversation. After a few hours, the creature had finally gotten irate enough with Wikus to merely mumble some excuse about taking care of business for a short while, and scuttling out of the shack.

That left Wikus with very little else to do, and after a good round of brooding, he found a shard or mirror in the shanty's far corner. Broken and splintered with cracks, the face it displayed was by no means a complete one, but it was still startling to see.

Staring at himself, WIkus noticed such stark contrast with the crimson alien. The carapace covering him was a darker colour, a sharp green similar to Christopher's. What he didn't notice before his transformation were the subtle hints of colour that tinted the edges of each plate. His own shell could be called green, but upon further examination, the edges were a hazel toned, growing nearly gold around the tips. The exoskeleton that covered his underside was that same golden colour, quite close to the tone of his eyes.

But the monstrous tentacles that hung from his face and the mouth-parts clacking beneath that veil (more often than not against his very will), were tar black and looked almost leathery. His claws appeared the same, and looked as if they had been dipped into asphalt.

Wikus clenched them bitterly and turned finally away from the mirror. He couldn't look any longer; he didn't want to in the first place. But he had been alone in this little hole for so many hours now -- even his solitary cellmate had finally abandoned him -- that there was very little else to do.

Wikus' longer antennas wept, sagging to press against his head. The smaller pair did the same, though with a less pronounced and more curling effect.

Looking away, Wikus reached out for the mirror and shoved it to the ground so he wouldn't have to stare at the thing any longer. The thing shattered with force, breaking where it was already cracked. Wikus pulled back quickly when one of the (sharp shards) nicked his palm. He cradled the wounded limb to his chest, feeling a warm stream of blood seeping free. It was only going to be three years, and when that was finally done he didn't want to remember the face in the mirror.

-----

It was only a short while before the crimson prawn returned to find WIkus still huddled on his dirty bed, curled once more into a ball. The former human heard him come in, but after the door closed, there was no more noise. He had so expected the alien to call out to him again, to try and reason with him to sit or stand or speak as he had so many times before. Instead, there was silence for the sound of the occasional wisp of paper, as if pages were being turned. For a long few minutes Wikus constantly expected the larger creature to break the silence and call out to him, but it never happened.

Finally, more out of curiosity than anything, Wikus rose his head from the fetal position, daring a peak in the direction of the other prawn.

The alien was perched on a battered crate, legs crossed as he hunched over an even more exceptionally battered paperback. Larger limbs held the book, while smaller arms would reach out every so often to turn the page. Wikus couldn't see the title from where he lay, but continued to glance over at the creature as it read, strangely enthralled by the sight of it doing so. It was very rare to see one of these prawns with so much as a magazine in the District. In all his time working for MNU, he had only heard of one of them using the newspaper as insulation for their huts. And yet, the alien across from him stared at each page with such intent WIkus couldn't call what it was doing anything but reading. The understanding in its eyes shown bright, and the focus it had on the page was absolute.

After a moment, Wikus felt the strain he was putting on his neck. The plates that lay there moved well enough, but put against a fair amount of strain as he craned over his shoulder and far up to see across the hovel was too much for such a long time. There was a strange pressure from the plates, one pressing against the other, and he didn't like the sensation at all. Wikus rose a bit, scuffling in an attempt to be silent but failing miserably. He sat up and leaned against the wall, still perched on the mattress.

The other prawn didn't seem to take notice except for a small swivel of his antenna that Wikus knew he wouldn't have ever noticed if he were still human.

Wikus continued to star at the creature, drinking in the image of it, for he had nothing else to do. The prawn was a tall and spindly one with eyes like molten that seemed to bore into him whenever Wikus stared too long. The edges of its shell were tipped with black, as were claws and face parts. The alien stared down at his book just as he watched everything -- eyes in a half-squit, studying everything with such intent as if surveying the situation completely.

The little the prawn wore seemed to have been torn to shreds long ago, though it was cared for with great delicacy, mended whenever the edges frayed, patched to the point of becoming a rag. Still, the creature carried itself with such intent that no matter how little worn, a noble appearance followed.

Partnered with that, Wikus had noticed something new about the alien since he had woken. The thin prawn was of a high rank -- very high, if Wikus understood right. Though appearing to be nothing more in the District to any human, this alien was something very different, something that WIkus didn't quite know what to call. The presence in the back of his mind seemed to understand, though, and one of those infernal was so ground into his new psyche that Wikus found himself leaning towards the other creature against his will, a small series of chirps rising from him, slow and steady. It was as though he was singing a mantra in the direction of the other prawn.

As always, when he caught himself, Wikus shrank back and forced silence. But by the time he had, the crimson-shelled alien had already put its book down and was staring at him with those eyes like molten.

Wikus tried to look small again, to hide inside himself and keep all attention off of himself, but when he finally dared a glance up again, he saw the prawn still watching him. Wikus wanted to speak, but when he tried to, the short clicks returned against what his mind told him. He couldn't seem to ward off the noise he was making, couldn't seem to get himself from both continuing his chant and slowly edging towards the alien. By the time the crimson prawn had finally risen, Wikus was on the floor near the creatures clawed feet, chirping loudly up without his own voice. Desperation shown in his eyes as he stared at the red-shelled creature, but it was desperation for his lack of self-understanding, for the very fact that his body was alien enough to betray his mind, and his mind enough to betray his soul.

When the larger creature looked into his eyes, Wikus finally stopped his chant and just stared into those fiery eyes. He half expected himself to break through the spell and finally speak, but that didn't happen. He almost knew that it really couldn't happen, for the high-ranked prawn needed to make a first move before anything was done.

"You are feeling better?"

Wikus hadn't known what he expected the larger prawn to say to him, but this wasn't it. The question caught him off guard. He nodded and continued to stare, unsure of where he stood.

"And it seems that you have truly completed your transformation," it chirped in contemplation, "Even I am surprised, but to be perfectly honest it appears as if even your mental functions have been completely altered, which is quite fascinating and unheard of!"

'_No shite!_' Wikus wanted to scream, angry that the prawn was surveying him as though he were some high school science project.

"But, I believe that's causing even more of a problem, as with the full development of a Poleepkwa psyche, you have as well gained a position in our natural rank-set." The alien moved to sit once more and Wikus felt himself lowering further, "And until that rank is fortified within this social setting, your mind will be able to make no semblance of where you fit among this mess. Tell me: do you sense my rank? Do you know what it is I'm speaking of?"

Wikus began to nod, but something in the back of his skull forced a quick answer in tow, "Yes," came out as a sharp clack, like when his voice used to break as a teenager.

"Very good," the prawn continued, "But you don't sense your own place within the order, do you?"

Wikus croaked out a quick no, and lowered his gaze once more. He watched his claws and hated himself for groveling to this fooking bug.

"That can be easily taken care of, though it is strange to do so to one who is already fully matured -- beg my pardon -- there will be no further issue." the words were quicker than Wikus was used to, clicking and snapping at break-neck speed. "And I do feel as though we will be able to complete those measures within the next night, as I have already talked to the colony about something quite similar possibly happening -- though I am astounded that you have developed into such a fine specimen. When I was told of your existence I immediately assumed that your transition would be into one of the drones, but to have you becoming so much more is a scientific--well, it's a scientific leap, dare I say!"

The creature continued on, but at a speed Wikus could no longer follow, using words that there was no human equivalent to. Wikus just kept his head down and pretended he wasn't there. He pretended he was back in his own home with his own angel, curled up next to her as they slept the day away. The sound of a purr-like hum in the back of his own throat brought him back, made me remember that his angel was far from reach.

Trying to silence too the purr, he knew he couldn't and just let it continue as the larger alien clicked rapidly on. Finally, as if coming back to reality and noticing Wikus on the floor all over again, the creature sat back down on its crate and watched Wikus for a long moment in complete silence. When finally it spoke again, the words were slower and very precise.

"You will be given a rank." it said, each sound sharp and certain, "But for that to be done, you have to accept that you are going to get a rank. You have to understand that this will make you a part of the Poleepkwa as a whole, that it will be somewhat of an alteration on your mind. You have to let us help you."

When the red prawn reached out, placing a claw on Wikus shoulder, the hum finally ceased.

The red prawn knelt down beside Wikus, never moving away from his shoulder. Wikus for his part, kept his head lowered, eyes focused on the ground. He couldn't understand why, but the act of submission seemed somehow right, somehow what he was supposed to do just now. Other than the strange impulse, he could not understand why his body betrayed him. He wanted to pull away, scoff at the words, but couldn't.

"I need you to look to me," the creature spoke in nearly a whisper, "I need your eyes to be trained on mine and, to arch your....antenna forward."

Wikus did just that, moving the new appendages forward with muscles he didn't even know he had. The alien did the same, beginning a hum in his own throat as he positioned his feelers against the smaller prawns. Those antenna intertwined, curving together with unnatural grace. And then, there was a change. It was as though a flash were going through his mind, as though images were flashing before his eyes. Images, words, feelings -- it was too much. And when it was flashing so fast, too fast, too much.

Head light, Wikus let himself be lowered onto the ground, panting and reaching out for the Poleepkwa he could sense so close. He called out for the elder, reached out. Wikus suddenly understood everything.


	4. Chapter 3: Places in the Dark

**Title**: Metamorphosis

**Author**: E.E Kelley/Bells

**Summary**: Left on earth for the next Three Years, will Wikus be able to survive on his own or will the group of Poleepkwa who have already opened their arms be able to help...and will he even let them? New chapters posted twice weekly.

**Genre**: Primarily Angst with a dash of H/C and Drama thrown on into the mix for a touch of flavour.

**Warnings**: Strong Language, Sexual Themes, Christopher to appear in later chapters.

**A/N:** Here introduces a fair amount of terms, as well as a general learning curve in knowledge about the Poleepkwa culture and social order. I do want to clarify that I'm working on a major in Biological **ANTHRO**pology, and thus am no expert on etymology as a whole. If I'm unclear at any parts, just take a hammer to my head and/or take the time to point out inconsistencies. If anyone is interested I'll post an appendix of my compiled info, including rank system, general cultural structure, anatomy, alien terminology, etc.

**Chapter Three: A Place in the Dark**

Sitting on the mattress, Wikus wrapped his arms around legs, hugging the alien figure of his own body. He felt like a child, and in some ways he very much was one. Wikus sat in the hovel trying to come to terms with what the elder had shown him, trying to understand. And yet, it wasn't anything completely new, wasn't a concept completely strange to him. He had known that the aliens shared a "hive mind", that their society functioned with classes -- ranks -- and that those who had come on the ship were missing a leader.

And still, it all flooded through him like a wave and the oddity of it all hit Wikus once more full force. So he just hugged his spiny legs tighter and watched the door, waiting for the other alien to return. Even if he understood nothing else, his body seemed to know that the crimson (prawn) was in some ways similar to how Christopher had been -- the same rank really. He couldn't have felt it at the time of his transformation, but Wikus knew that Christopher and the red-shelled alien were of the same set, and now, so was he.

The door swung open and Wikus was immediately on his feet, head still lowered. He cursed, hating that his body was foreign enough to act on its own, to not really be his own anymore. He wanted to scoff openly at the creature in front of him, wanted to throw a handful of insults in the bugs direction to keep upcoming discomfort from being shared, but the words wouldn't come. His body already knew: the one in front of him had a higher rank and he needed to wait for the elder to speak before he uttered so much as a click.

It was a long moment, but the silence cracked slowly in two as if being slit by a wedge. "We need to speak," he said very slowly, words precise.

Wikus dared a look up, and instantly wished he hadn't. The crimson alien was waring a strange expression, antenna twitching with anxiety, eyes never meeting his own.

"Ill assume you're feeling more at ease, then." said the creature.

Wikus nodded, but at the same time wanted to scream out, to ask what was wrong, but he couldn't make himself. He wanted to rush forward and just shake the prawn until he told him everything, but his entire being rebelled against that idea, cementing him in place.

"It's good to know you recovered from that, but we have a great deal more to discuss. I want to make very clear everything that you've...learned." Clasping his smaller arms together, he continued, still slow and deliberate, "Could you sit, please Wikus? I want to talk."

A second crate was pulled out of the shadows for Wikus and the two took a seat, both avoiding eye contact. It was as though the silence had returned to infect the room once more, and nobody spoke for a frustrating few moments.

"I know that human scientists have come to understand we share a mindset somewhat similar to creatures already existing on your planet, but it seems as though they have never truly grasped the extent of our order. I believe that you should be better...aquatinted with it now." he stopped, exhaling heavily as if under a burden, "But there's something different, something strange about this situation, about your position in all this, Wikus. You don't seem to fit the same way."

WIkus' head jerked up and it was as if the long spell. He was on his feet, raging.

"So what: I don't have a fooking place as a fooking bug! It's not like I care! What reason could I want to be apart of some fooking colony for giant ants anyway!" the words were bitter, but no matter how much he wanted to mean them, were all lies. He was beginning to understand the order, beginning to understand the beautiful place that everything fit in, the way that

"It's not as though you don't have a place, Wikus, please sit down. I just said that there is something different from the usual." he ushered the smaller alien to quell his rage and sit once more. "You should already be aquatinted with the order of things, as it is well ingrained within your mindset as a fellow Poleepkwa."

The word stuck with Wikus, feeling somehow right.

"And as I'm sure you can feel, there is a startling empty position among our order here on this planet. Under normal circumstances, our race is held in order by our -- as humans would perceive -- Queen. She rules over the race as a whole, mostly channeling her power through a series of individual coven leaders called the "Next-Queens". These leaders report directly to the leader, making sure that everything runs smoothly, normally taking up the high position themselves after the elder perishes. Below them are the Nobles -- the direct offspring and mates of the leaders." he paused as if taking a very long gasp of air, "It is easy to tell, but Earth is barren of any leaders, and thus our race run aimless, unable to pull themselves into some semblance of order for they feel this loss.

"But, that is only for the majority, for the drones who make up most of the population. Without a leader, these Poleepkwa can only function on a primitive level -- for they feel the physical place where there is no leader, missing as though they were missing a limb. But, I do not feel this type of loss and, it seems, neither do you."

Before the other could continue, Wikus broke through with eager chirps, "What do you mean? I feel some damn empty spot and it feels bloody awful! How's that any different?"

"You feel it, but your mind is still your own, as well as your thoughts and your primary ability to reason out. You are not apart of the population of workers, as we expected you to be. You are of a different rank, one that usually are only able to be bred among one another, and it is very--"

"What's wrong with me!" Wikus fought the urges in him to remain submissive and stood over the crimson alien, glaring down, "So I get turned into a fooking alien, but now I'm not even normal for a prawn?"

"No-no!" the elder alien hushed, "There's nothing wrong, I just said different. You're not of the average rank, you are of a higher rank that is all too uncommon these days among the District. You're Heraldry, just like I am and just like your friend Christopher was."

Wikus sat back down, making no other move to speak. He just stared back at the other alien, words making too much sense.

"There is nothing wrong, it's just that with so few Heraldry on this planet, your transformation is somewhat of a shock." the elder spoke quickly, eyes still averted, "There is nothing wrong with it, just a surprise is all. That, and there are some primary differences within how the higher rank function in comparison to the Poleepkwa that human scientists have surveyed over the last three decades.

Wikus nodded, keeping absolutely still, working hard to keep his mouth parts silent, to make no sound. But that didn't last very long, as the tension was pressing down on his mind like a physical presence.

"What's different? I was with Christopher, and he didn't seem--"

"The higher rank -- at least your rank -- has very few physical differences from your typical Poleepkwa. But, in regards to mental functions, the center of the brain that focuses mostly upon the hive functions as well as instinctual centers, is much less developed than that of your typical drone. As well, other portions of the brain are heightened, as well as your sense of free will."

"So what you're fooking saying is I could have turned into some mindless bug and that would have just been normal? I could have lost my fooking mind and nobody would have thought that was out of the goddamn ordinary? You all expected me to turn into some mindless ant just like the rest of you!" Wikus was worked up again, antenna twitching, (maxillary) clacking viciously between each word.

The elder looked suddenly angry, "You have to understand, human, that nothing is wrong for us with that. You would still have had your own mind, but you would have been more in tune with the rest of the population. You would have been of the mindset to work as a group." He was standing now, towering over Wikus and inciting submission again, "See what our race has accomplished that yours has not? I'm sure that you understand now, that you can see how very little humans have (created) in comparison to Poleepkwa! There is nothing wrong with our ways, just your simple minded assumptions that we are lower than you!"

Before Wikus could say anything, the alien stormed out of the shack, slamming the door so that it rattled on its hinges, shaking the hovel like a leaf in the wind.

Wikus could not understand why the prawn had been so upset, and stayed on the crate, listening to the hovel continue to quake for a long few minutes after the elder left. He lowered his head, staring at his hands, trying not to understand. But, what the creature had said to him made perfect sense, what the crimson alien had been telling him seemed to click into place with ease. He sat there, waiting for the older alien to return, but after a while began to realize he would not. He had offended the elder, and while Wikus did not understand what had set the older alien off, knew that he would have to be the one to see out penance.

Grumbling in humiliation for having to seek out the forgiveness of one of these bugs, Wikus stumbled towards the door, shaky still on his new limbs.

Opening the door, he nearly (stumbled) into a small figure.

The child was (small) -- (smaller) than most Wikus had seen able to walk around on their own -- but that was not the strange part about this alien. The shell of this young creature was pale enough to be white, appearing (pure) in contrast to Wikus own green and brown carapace. The child stared up at him with milk-white eyes, huge and questioning. Antenna nearly the length of its small body, unfurled and quivered above as if trying to figure something out from the scent of the air.

Wikus watched the child, not sure what to do.

"Yours." he said simply, holding out a can, looking as uncertian as Wikus felt.

Reaching for the can, the child snatched back its arms, curling them against its chest, letting the can drop heavily to the ground. It was as though he didn't want to touch. It was then Wikus noticed another oddity, a startling difference form his own altered anatomy. The smaller limbs on this child were not in the least small, but instead had two large, mantis-like claws that rubbed against another nervously. When the child noticed him staring, the limbs went still, tucked perfectly against his abdomen.

When Wikus didn't make a move for the fallen can, the child snatched it up once more and held it out.

"Yours." he declared adamantly.

The small thing reminded WIkus painfully of Christopher's son, Oliver, and he reached out as delicately as his new claws would allow towards the outstretched can, trying to pick it up without startling the strange child.

Before he could take the food, though, he was knocked off balanced, forced against the side of the shack by a brute force barreling directly into him. Gasping, Wikus slid down the side of the hovel and onto the ground, grunting as he hit that, too, hard. A huge prawn towered over him, shell nearly the same tone as his own, eyes glinting a vicious gold. The alien hissed through tentacles longer than Wikus had before seen, shooting warning growls down. Wikus could only lay there, staring dumbfounded at the enraged prawn.

When finally he tried to speak, the alien only raised the sound of its hissing as if in a warning. Wikus took that warning and just lay there, rubbing the plated notrum that had so hard hit the shack. He was worried that the shell had cracked, and felt a long mar that reached nearly to his right shoulder. When he pressed directly on the crack, little shards of pain erupted and he couldn't help but chirp out in (pain).

"Jacob!" he heard a familiar voice, the crimson prawn who had stormed out earlier, "Jacob, what are you doing?" Pushing past Wikus' attacker, though the angry prawn never ceased the low thrum of its growl, the elder emerged.

"You should not have done that, Jacob. This is not the time nor the place to--"

"He's MNU; human." Jacob hissed, "He doesn't belong here."

"He _was_ human, but as you can see, the creature before you is clearly Poleepkwa." The other alien raised an arm as if to silence the growing rage.

"He might look like one of us, but that does not make him anything more than an impostor. A human mind and human thoughts are still carried in that disguise, and I for one do not trust him!"

"Calm yourself!" he ordered, "That mind is no more human than your own."

The green prawn hissed, never turning from Wikus. "That's hard to believe. He might look like we do, but this monster started out as MNU."

"Yes, he did, but you witnessed: he was fighting the humans not working for their organization. He allowed for the ship to finally begin its journey home! He is one of us an he has been integrated within the colony already. See for yourself, there are only remnants of humanity now, and soon that will be gone as well."

Wikus fidgeted a little where he lay, and if it weren't for the hissing creature above him would have snapped ragefully at the elder in defense of his humanity!

Grunting, Jacob lowered his hiss to a barely noticeable buzz and lowered himself in front of where Wikus lay. Instinctually cringing back, the crack along Wikus back jarred the shack and pain once more flooded his system as though he had broken a bone. Chirping out softly, Wikus shrank into himself. He could see the huge green prawn's face level with his own, and choked back the discomfort in an attempt at silence.

Golden eyes surveyed him as if taking in everything, drinking in the entirety of his appearance and working some difficult problem on in the aliens mind. Suddenly, Wikus felt another sensation as well -- the lightest touch against his own antenna. He dared a glance up and saw Jacob doing something very similar to what the elder had earlier. Two sets of antenna wrapped around another, the larger aliens feeling over the surface of Wikus until it seemed to have found the correct space.

As though a flash of colour were moving before his eyes, Wikus saw suddenly images -- some he knew, some of him, and some that he barely understood. He wanted to call out again, frustrated once more at a lack of understanding, but remembered the larger creature in front of him and clamped tentacles and labrium hard to keep the smallest noise from escaping. But before he realized what was happening, the pain had fallen away from his mind and all Wikus could feel was that same sensation of belonging, of perfect order that he had only once before. A great peace washed over him as though the colony's perfect semblance was somehow comforting him so completely.

Before Wikus realized what he was doing, he was leaning into the larger prawn, tightening his own (grip) on the other antenna as though he were holding on for (dear life). A steady hum rose from him once more, like the purr of a feline.


End file.
